


Rest You Merry, Gentlemen

by Kestrel337



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Multi, My First Fanfic, OT3, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first Christmas eve together.  Greg, John and Sherlock return home after a case.  Rated teen and up because that's when awareness of poly relationships came up in our household.  Your mileage may vary, no judgement is intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest You Merry, Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> Even if I were incredibly talented, these characters wouldn't be mine. I intend no disrespect by and make no money from this story.

The days-long case was closed, the paperwork filed.  Lestrade and his partners had gotten a kidnapper off the streets.  The children had been returned to their custodial parent and the father’s final violent frenzy, while terrifying at the time, had ensured he wouldn’t be getting out soon.  But Greg felt no pride, no sense of accomplishment.  Fatigue, hunger, and crashing adrenaline dragged at his body.  Worry dragged at his spirit when he saw how John had carefully eased his shoulder against the seat, wedging himself between Sherlock and Greg to avoid jostling in the late afternoon traffic.  This wasn’t the holiday he’d wanted for their partnership’s first.

John’s head tipped to drowse against Sherlock, but his knee and calf were pressed comfortably against Greg’s from the center seat.  Sherlock’s finger tapped the back of Greg’s hand where it rested on John’s knee. “Problem?”

Pale eyes met his over John’s head, one eyebrow arched inquisitively. 

 “You do know the date?  It’s Christmas Eve.  We’ve barely been back to the flat these last few days.  It wasn’t exactly tidy when we left.  No decorations up, we’ll probably be eating pot-noodle and toast, dosing John with pain pills, and falling asleep until sometime tomorrow afternoon.  Not quite what I’d had in mind for our first holiday.”

Sherlock cocked his head to one side.  Greg could almost see him sifting words with an unusual care.  Sentiment came more easily to him when it concerned their triad, but still not without effort. 

“We are together, largely unharmed.” Sherlock’s eyes flickered uncertainly between Greg’s face and what he could see of John’s.  “Is that not the most important consideration?”

“Trappings and wrappings would’ve been nice.”  John agreed, “Still, it’s hard to complain about hot showers, take-away, and a few hours to do nothing at all.  That, plus the presents we all  hid at Mrs. Hudson’s -  Yes, Sherlock, I knew about that-  it’s a wonder she had any closet space for herself.   Think we can get by with that?”

Greg nodded.  “Well enough, yeah.  Better still if Sherlock takes the last shower!”  Sherlock was a considerate lover, but thoroughly selfish with the hot water and Greg knew John’s shoulder would benefit from the greater share.

When they arrived, Greg settled the fare and waited to help John carry packages upstairs.  Mrs. Hudson answered John’s knock with a peck on the cheek and a click of the tongue.  “Christmas eve and don’t you look all in.  Oh, I know you boys have been too busy, nasty business,  I saw it all on the telly, don’t think I didn’t know you had a hand in it. “ John nodded wearily, opening his mouth to excuse the demands of the job but couldn’t quite get a word in. “Well, you know, I have some paper left.  You boys go, get some dinner, I’ll bring your packages up once they’re wrapped and ready.”

 

Inspector and blogger looked at each other, shrugged, and made their way up the staircase.   So tired was he that Greg nearly plowed over John when the latter stopped short in the doorway.  “John?”

“I...well.  Mrs. Hudson is a saint.”

Lestrade nudged his grinning partner to one side and looked into the sitting room.  The tidy sitting room.  The tidy sitting room, lit by a glowing fire and twinkling lights draped artfully over the mantle.  The bison skull sported a festive bow and more lights.  Sherlock was investigating the contents of a slow-cooker in the kitchen, and the comfortable scent of Mrs. Hudson’s homemade soup wafted through the flat.

John took charge of the situation.  “Greg, if you want the first shower you’d better move fast.  Sherlock, is there anything in that cupboard to go with Minestrone?”

Greg chuckled and headed for the bath.  No doubt the table would be set and a nice wine poured by the time he got out.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++/p>

Two hours later Mrs. Hudson slipped through the door and settled the carry bags of presents on the coffee table. The television muttered softly and in it's shifting lights she saw Sherlock, curled between the arm of the sofa and Greg’s shoulder.  Sable curls fluttered slightly in Lestrade’s sleeping exhalations.   John’s head was pillowed against Lestrade’s opposite thigh, his shoulder supported by a heating pad and cushion.  Sherlock’s long fingers showed white through his grey and blonde hair.  Tucked in the middle, stocking feet stretched between empty soup mugs, Greg Lestrade cradled the other mens’ shoulders as if he held something infinitely fragile and precious.  With an indulgent smile, Mrs. Hudson quickly snapped a photo with her mobile before wrapping a blanket over each sleeping form and tiptoeing from the room.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you call a middle-aged fangirl? Me, I guess. I haven't written anything in more years than I care to enumerate, but here ya' go. For what it's worth.
> 
> Edited to add: I'm my own beta for this. So if I messed something up, let me know. Nicely, please. Because I'm really nervous about this.


End file.
